Style Galante
by Higurazel
Summary: Supportshipping (Anzu Mazaki X Hiroto Honda) Short Rococo AU. The perfect partner when you're through with dancing for the evening.


Applause, crackling ripples of formality filled the ballroom as the musicians came to an end on their latest performance. A divide was clear between younger and older guests, the latter of whom showed far less enthusiasm in their shows of appreciation for this upstart Galante breed of music. A sharp tapping on the music stand, and the orchestra started on their next piece, most of the guests taking up their place in the next dance.

Anzu stifled a yawn as she stepped into place, looking across at her latest dance partner on this nightmarishly long evening. A good looking man, if looking somewhat vacant behind his large, soft brown eyes, silvery hair pulled into a desperate attempt at the latest fashions.

"Ryou Bakura, mademoiselle." He introduced himself, bending in the best bow he could manage in such a tight outfit. Anzu had taken the better part of her afternoon to be entombed inside her dress, and while it certainly left a lot to be desired in the breathing department (not to mention the modesty and flexibility department), she was probably managing better than most of the women assembled and a good proportion of the men.

Their dance progressed wordlessly, and Anzu was thankful for it. After an evening of partners trying to strike up conversations on the weather, their own monetary worth or in one older man's case, mumbling incoherently while his eyes remained utterly fixed on her chest, silence was a blessed relief. Anzu took up the opportunity to take in the music and the scenery, eyes roaming over the expanses of pale marble that made up the walls and ceilings, or the black and white paving making the grand hall appear as some enormous chessboard. The musicians played something irreverent and warm, the harpsichord tones playfully rolling about her ears, coming to a stop so sudden that she was only vaguely aware of her partner timidly shrinking away back into the masses at the edge of the hall once it was over.

Anzu sighed, people swapping partners around her and milling about in an almost automatic, perfunctory manner. The aches in her feet were finally starting to get to her, and she thought that finally it might be time to cut the night short, to return to home and family and wait for the next awful social event. The first few strings of the late Johann Pachelbel's Canon in D started up, and a new figure materialised out of the crowd in front of her. _Just one more then_, Anzu allowed herself, making her curtsey before the dark-haired stranger. His smile wasn't the same forced, painted rictus that adorned all her other partners (save the ones that were too nervous to even attempt to smile), but even so there was something clearly insincere about it. His dark eyes were far too distracted, too serious to lend any support to the slight upward pull of his lip.

They danced and, once again, no words passed between them. The young man was clearly practiced, taking turns at the right time and guiding her through the currents of the dance. That's all there was to it though. Practice. No passion or drive for the actions. None of the-

"You don't want to be here, do you?" His words pulled her back down to earth.

"Pardon?"

"A lot of people in here are throwing everything they have into looking like they're having a good time, even if they aren't. You're at least wearing it on your sleeves. So to speak."

"I'm sorry sir, but I don't know where you get that-"

"It's Honda. Hiroto Honda. And sorry if I offended you. Just thought I might attempt to save the evening before one of us got too bored and left."

"Save the dance we're not enjoying by dancing with me?" Anzu raised an eyebrow.

"Well I wouldn't exactly call it dancing," Honda said, quickly sidestepping to avoid an oncoming couple.

"Then what would you call it?"

"Like I said, an attempt. I'm not one of nature's dancers. Too much push and not enough direction. I suppose I'm one of nature's runners."

Anzu smiled. "Then perhaps we should leave the dancing to the others then?"

"A fantastic idea," Honda admitted, "A few more moments and these near misses are going to result in one of your feet being crushed."

"Well," Anzu took him by the hand and led him out to back of the hall, to the outer balcony and the fresh air, "We can't be having that."

* * *

Evening had become an honest night, with the moon hanging trying its best to beam through the clouds. Anzu and Honda rested at the balcony overlooking the gardens; candlesticks either side providing what little illumination they could.

"- of course we returned his horse, but I can't say he was pleased."

They laughed, laughed into the night and became all too aware just how alone they had become. The music had stopped long ago, and one by one, couple by couple, group by group, the guests had left. Now only the faintest smatterings of socialites remained, too drunk to remove themselves or too important to be seen leaving before anyone else.

"It's the worst part of the night." Honda said, pulling himself away from the balcony.

"What is?"

"That part just between merriment and sleep, when the awkwardness sneaks its way in." He retrieved a hat from a marble bust near the hall's entrance, and Anzu found herself wondering if he'd left it there all night. She certainly hadn't seen him arrive with one. "When someone asks _will we meet again_, and the other person says _yes_ or _no_. Either way you get a little glimpse of the immediate future. Scary stuff."

"Perhaps you should try asking anyway." Anzu said, keeping her place at the balcony. "There's always room for surprise."

Honda chuckled. "Then, Miss Mazaki, I hear there's another dance at the Mutou estate in early August. It will be terribly dreary most likely. Will I see you there?"

"Maybe you will," Anzu smiled.

Honda raised his head, opening his mouth to say something, then thinking better of it, not wanting to spoil the moment. "Maybe I will."

And maybe he did.


End file.
